Dead Memories
by Amledo
Summary: Oneshot. With Batman 'gone' the Joker feels as though his life is over, until Bruce Wayne visits him in the graveyard. 'T' for pre-slash and 'character death'.


(A/N: Ok, well here I am with another fic. I know that people are a bit harsher on OOCness these days so I'm telling you right now, it is going to be, and that is how I want it. Warnings for pre-slash and semi-death of a character. I don't own Batman, I never will. And for the record the fic was written in '05 before Slipknot's song came out. Let's get on with this mess then shall we?)

Dead Memories

He felt useless; his was body limp as he lay on the ground, occasionally tucking himself into a heaped form to stay warm. But it wasn't easy with the rain, not that it really mattered if he got sick or died. The Joker had lost his reason for being. Below a marble statue of Batman, in the mud of a freshly buried grave, that was the only place that he had left. Occasionally a sob would tear its way from his chest and he'd be left gasping raggedly, already spent of tears he kept sitting there, where he felt he ought to be. Sometimes he even wondered if Batman had made it to Heaven, if perhaps the intent of good had saved the Caped Crusader's soul.

Whenever he glanced up at the statue he could feel his heart throb awkwardly in his chest, as though he had been stabbed. It had been three days since the funeral service, and he had spent all of them steadfastly atop the Bat's grave. Not that it mattered, but he knew that he was making a spectacle of himself, letting everyone know just how intensely he missed the vigilante. They didn't understand it, that he existed only to complete Batman, only to take up Batman's attention. With no adversary the Joker almost considered publicly retiring and living out his days in Arkham.

But he was the Joker, and that would lead to a life of suffering. His only real recourse was to kill himself, to end the life that had lost its meaning. After all he had already avenged his Dark Knight, beating Harvey Two-Face until he was Harvey No-Face. How dare that whacked out sorry excuse for a mobster deprive him of his Batsy? No, Harvey had to die for his actions. Yet, so did the Joker, what with Batman taken away so brutally (closed casket he hadn't even really gotten to say goodbye) a similarly gruesome end should befall the Clown Prince.

"You want him back that badly?" a calm voice asked and the Joker felt himself give a mechanical nod. He knew that voice, Bruce Wayne, the man that had ensured the grave marker would be in place in time for the funeral. It seemed odd for the patron of Gotham's salvation to be standing in the rain, in a grave yard, speaking to an arch-villain that had held him hostage several times.

"I…I would do anything to have him back. This is…not what I wanted at all," the Joker felt his voice breaking and cracking as he spoke though he didn't really hear his own words. What was the point anymore; he didn't care if Mr. Wayne pulled a gun and shot him in the back of the head as a means of revenge. He simply didn't care, and when he felt a pair of too strong arms lift his mud covered form off the ground there was no energy to fight it. Perhaps Bruce really would kill him, or there was a bodyguard ready to toss him into the nearest ravine. Whatever the case he just hoped that he got to have his Batsy back.

"He isn't going to come back, you know that," Bruce whispered calmly and the Joker shuddered at the rush of heated breath over his skin. He hadn't realized just how cold he was. It didn't help though, the confidence in Bruce's voice, no more Batman, ever. Were his body not already slack and powerless to support its own weight he would have gone limp in an attempt to make the billionaire drop him back to the ground. Bruce didn't love Batman, didn't care about him the way that the Joker did, no one could.

"Let me go, I want to die here, I want to die with him," the Clown Prince spoke in a low, threatening hiss, and proceeded to use his minimal energy to thrash against the restraining grip. Bruce held him tightly, pressing him against the heat of his chest and using more strength than was necessary to spin the Joker to face him. Their expressions were identical when their eyes met torn battered and abused, loss evident in watery eyes and creased brows. It caused the Joker to lose track of his thoughts, was Batman really such a big influence in Bruce's life?

"You shouldn't fight like that, you're going to get yourself hurt," Bruce's voice had changed into a low grow, one that made the Harlequin of Hate sob like a child. It was so painfully similar to the one that used to pass his Batsy's lips that he was convinced for a moment that Bruce was the man he had been waiting for. Not that it mattered what he had thought, how could Bruce be Batman? Sure maybe he had been his patron, bought him his gear and sent him for training, but why would the most powerful man in the city resort to vigilantism? Even to the Joker that sounded like a farfetched concept.

"I don't care if I get hurt. Harvey killed him, Harvey took hi…"

"I let Harvey think he killed me. You know that you were the only one capable of actually killing me. I wanted it that way. But, Jack, I needed people to believe I was gone. I'm retired, and Batman is dead. Please don't cry anymore, and please don't let yourself die," Bruce's voice began as a growl and ended softly as he cradled the clown against himself. By no means had he meant to hurt the Joker, though he understood fully why it had. You don't take someone as a lover and then fake your own death on them, it just wasn't polite. But he felt the smaller man's arms wrap themselves around his waist, perhaps he was forgiven?

"Darling, is it really you?" a whimpered question and Bruce nodded his response. When the clown buried his face against Bruce's neck the billionaire sighed in relief. He didn't care about the mud covering his suit, he didn't care about the rain soaking him to the bone, he just cared about Jack. When his glance tracked to the carved statue of Batman he smiled softly, it wasn't so bad leaving it behind. Not if he could still have Jack.

"Do you still love me?" Bruce whispered carefully, cupping the side of Jack's face with one hand and supporting his weight with the other. The only response he got was the one he needed the most, his lover's lips pressed firmly against his own.

(A/N: Well there it was. I hope you liked it, and just remember, Mr. Freeze isn't fond of flames, and neither am I.)


End file.
